


slowly festering through

by notavodkashot



Series: words are futile devices [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Cor has the weirdest mental tangents into the weirdest emotional cul-de-sacs, Cor's terrible cactuar novelty shirts, Deepthroating, Establishing the relationship as they go along, Fluff and Smut, Irresponsible use of sword oil, M/M, Nyx acts his age at the most awkward times, Oral Sex, Regis' regrettable knack for catching them in the act, Rough Oral Sex, Snarky sex, Topping from the Bottom, Wall Sex, feelings and smut, roundabout kink negotiation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-21 21:16:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12466104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notavodkashot/pseuds/notavodkashot
Summary: Otherwise known as "Five Times Nyx fucks Cor, and the one time Cor returns the favor."Or, the highlights of the smutty shenanigans going on in the background inthe sun is out, the day is new, in between awkward parenting attempts.





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

_i. year iii_

* * *

Cor was aware the were probably several other items in the agenda, that still needed to be discussed. He wasn't adversed to it, either. Not really. He was a simple creature by nature, he figured out what he wanted and then focused on getting it, no matter the cost. After all, by the time he decided he wanted something, he'd also decided what he was willing to give up for it, if necessary. Cid used to crack meanspirted jokes about it, about how cold and mercenary he could be, once he got it into his head to want something. Calculative, he'd say, with that exhasperated smile of his that took Cor years to realize meant he was fond of him. 

But the thing was, he'd decided, somewhere in the carefully controlled disaster that had been the last few years, that he wanted Nyx Ulric. 

He'd woken up one day, and watched him wince miserably as Prompto clung to the braids with ferocious tenacity, and suddenly the urge was there, to walk up and kiss him. He'd pondered it, for a while. Not why he'd want Nyx in any shape or form, but how much he did actually want him. The why wasn't important, really, just the measure of what he'd be willing to give for it. It turned out a lot more than he'd originally thought, to be honest. The upside was, Nyx seemed amenable to the idea. Very amenable. But the timing was wrong – when had the timing been right, in Cor's life? - and despite they fact they were both clearly interested, Nyx had turned him down. He hadn't been entirely upset about it, to be honest. Nyx had good enough reasons to do it, and he had left open the door to give it a shot, when they were both on more even footing. Cor did not miss the fact Nyx's efforts to sort out his life had remained thorough and insistent, after that. 

Nyx needed to wait, and so he'd waited, because Nyx had asked him to. And he'd forced patience he didn't really have out of the memory of Nyx's mouth wrapped around his cock, eyes gone dark with lust as he unraveled him with brutal efficiency. Then life had gone to shit, just as he was trying to figure out what came next, because Cor's life always did, at the worst possible time. Now here he was, still alive – always the last man standing, him, and that's why he never questioned _why_ he wanted something, he just went for it, because the ones who lived were always the ones who collected regrets and he was sick of his – and still wanting. 

He meant to pull back from the kiss, to let Nyx vent his grievances and set up his boundaries so he could slide into the spaces left to him. But Nyx followed him, when he retreated, mouth hungry and eyes dark, and Cor panted harshly when he was given just enough space to breathe again. Nyx slid his hands to his sides, fingers digging through his shirt as his tongue trailed along his jaw. He caught the tip of Cor's ear between his teeth, terrible and wanton, and Cor's hands dug into his back, anchoring, because fuck it, he _wanted_. 

“See?” Nyx said, words wet and quiet against his ear, “I told you the sex was a given.” 

He sounded smug, the fucking bastard. Cor barked a cross of a laugh and a moan in reply, raising a hand to sink his fingers into Nyx's hair and used the hold as leverage to press his mouth against his again. They kissed in stages, then, less frantic, rushed daring and more... considering. Calculative, the word echoed in Cor's mind again. And he thought of Cid again, somewhere beyond the wall, stubborn and eternal, like the mountains around Leide. He thought of the way Cid used to smile at him, all fond and exhasperated and fascinated, watching Cor unravel his cinnamon rolls before he ate them, one nibble at the time, stretching them to make them last. 

He kissed Nyx like that, languid as each breath unfurled into the next, decompressing. He expected Nyx to pick up pace, but he didn't, not quite. He matched the rhythm, sure, but he also rolled his hips, bracing on his knees, at each side of Cor's thighs, entire body griding on him on the down swing. It was the kind of fucking underhanded shit Nyx would do, Cor thought, lips curling into a small, pleased smile. He planted his feet on the ground and held onto Nyx's legs as he sat up, keeping him in place and changing the angle of his grinding. Nyx broke the kiss to laugh a shaky, breathless laugh at the sudden shift in posture. 

“So far,” Cor said, voice low and eyes half-mast, “you promise a lot, but haven't actually _given_ anything yet.” 

Nyx leaned in and bit on the tendon running up Cor's neck, hard enough to be felt, just flirting with the edge of hurt. 

“I give excellent head,” he pointed out, licking the imprint of his teeth and grinning at the shudder that rolled down Cor's spine at the words. “If you recall.” 

Cor hummed in the back of his throat as one of his hands found a braid and he wrapped it around his finger, tugging lightly on it. 

“You'll have to remind me,” he said, voice quiet enough to hopefully make it into an invitation, rather than a command. “It's been a while, now.” 

It was one of those things that made Nyx about as strange as he was special, in Cor's opinion; he'd never cowered before him. Even when he'd been half dead and under the impression Cor was about to kill him. Even then, he hadn't cowered. Nyx was sure of his place in the world in a way that Cor found fascinating, because it never bled into arrogance. He could be cocky and taunting and reckless, when the mood struck him, but it lacked the self-destructive spin that Cor had had to get bled out of himself, some fifteen years prior. 

He supposed that happened, if you weren't bitter. 

Like right then and there, Cor marveled, watching Nyx's eyes darken even more as he licked his lips. He said what he meant, and then followed up exactly as promised, always. 

“Well,” Nyx muttered, shifting so he could slide to the floor, his arms resting on Cor's thighs and his fingers taunting at the fly of his pants, “that just won't do. Been so long you've forgotten?” Cor dug his fingers into the couch as Nyx leaned in to breathe all over his half-hard cock. “You're hurting my feelings, Marshal.” 

Cor hissed his breath through his teeth as Nyx ran his tongue along his length, only vaguely aware of the hands slowly, but unrelentingly dragging his clothes down his legs. Nyx caught his eye and smirked at him, tilting his head so he could kiss the underside of cock and held Cor's eyes as he slowly wrapped his mouth around it. Cor felt blood rushing in his ears and felt himself harden in Nyx's mouth. 

“You know what's the best part, though?” Nyx told him, pulling back just enough so the words ghosted over the wet skin, “I'm not under a time limit, this time around.” 

Cor sank into quicksand and wet heat, Nyx's laughter ringing in his ears all the way. 

He was true to his word, though, going slow. Excruciatingly, painfully, stupidly slow. Cor dug a hand into his hair, and Nyx retaliated by digging the fingers of his left hand into his thigh, high where it melted into his torso. Cor didn't think much about it until he tried to urge Nyx to move and Nyx's fingers tightened, digging into nerves Cor hadn't known he had. 

“Fuck,” Cor growled, low in his throat. 

“If you ask nicely,” Nyx replied cheekily, far more cheekily any one man should be able to sound, with another man's erection resting along his cheek. 

“You keep promising a wall,” Cor murmured, loosening his grip on Nyx's hair, and shuddering as Nyx did the same with his thigh, and there was the electric shocks crawling straight into his groin again. 

Nyx tilted his head slideways and caught Cor's dick into his mouth again, mouthing messily at the tip. 

“Let's be real,” he snorted, and then wrapped his free hand around Cor's erection, “threatening would be the better word choice.” 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Cor insisted, as Nyx used his hand to guide him not just into his mouth but down his throat. 

All the way down. 

“Threats don't really work on you, though, do they?” Nyx taunted him as he pulled back, and it took Cor a moment to remember what the conversation was even about, since there was a thumb rubbing small, maddening circles over the head of his dick. “Like, at all.” 

“It's only a threat,” Cor snorted, licking his lips, “if I didn't want you to do it.” 

Nyx licked off the small beads of liquid leaking into his thumb, teasing, and Cor groaned, tightening his grip into his hair. He groaned louder when Nyx tightened his grip on his thigh, again, and held it until Cor let go of his hair, hand going to grip the couch's armrest instead. 

“You'd actually let me, wouldn't you,” Nyx mused, eyes half lidded, “fuck you, I mean.” 

Cor shrugged. 

“You seem so very taken with the idea,” he deadpanned, licking his lips as Nyx pressed another wet kiss to the head of his cock. Despite his best attempts, the deadpan melted into a pleased little murmur: “So if you want to, sure.” 

“What do you want, though?” Nyx asked, frowning like he didn't have Cor's dick halfway in his mouth, like Cor could want _anything else_. Cor shuddered a shrug, and Nyx rolled his eyes at him. “Use your words, Marshal, just this once.” He snorted, smirking wryly as he wiped spit and Cor's precum off his lips. “I'm trying not to fuck this up so I get seconds one day.” 

Cor leaned in, flexible in a way Nyx clearly hadn't realized he was, given the sound he made, and tilted Nyx's face up so he could catch his mouth in a bruising kiss. He felt Nyx shudder and moan under his hands. 

“I thought the sex was a given,” Cor taunted, breathing the words against his lips, rather than voice any of the ridiculous, writhing things lounging about in his head. 

The taunt fell flat, the moment Cor realized the look Nyx was giving him. And he remembered, then, just how young he really was. He rarely acted like it, scabs crusted all around him in the places the war broke him hard enough to scar, but not enough to maim. Cor shifted back into the couch, pulling him up with him, and Nyx went quietly, draping himself on him, like it wasn't awkward at all that they were half dressed and half-hard, sticky and slick in places. 

“I lied,” Nyx muttered, face buried into the crook of Cor's neck. “I'm not okay if it's just the sex.” 

Cor wrapped a stray braid around his fingers, tugging lightly at it. 

“It's not,” he said, because it wasn't. 

It wasn't. It was arguing about the sugar-caffeine ratio in Cor's coffee in the mornings, and taunting Nyx's habit to chew on his hair when he was frustrated. It was snarking about Clarus and trade snippy little stories about the worst of their recruits. It was watching Prompto learn a new word on Monday and be sick to death of it by Friday. It was months and months and months of quietly shuffling around each other's lives, sorting out the pieces until they slid into place and then taking for granted how well they fit there, because it felt like they'd always been there in the first place. 

It was everything Cor wanted more than air, but he didn't know how to explain it. 

“Do you want to stop?” He asked, because maybe Nyx could use some time to get himself composed, even if the whole point of the exercise was to see how much they could lose their composure in the first place. 

Nyx hummed in the back of his throat and pressed a kiss to the underside of Cor's jaw. 

“I'm good,” he muttered, and then snorted, self-deprecating. “Just, not as good at this as I'm in my head, apparently.” 

Cor tugged the braid. 

“Evidently.” 

Nyx barked a laugh. 

“Fuck you,” he snapped, mostly on reflex, but Cor pulled on his hair again, sharper this time, until Nyx tilted his head back enough for Cor to lean in and kiss him. 

“That's the ideal result, yes,” he muttered, letting go of Nyx's hair to grab the hem of his shirt. “If you're still interested.” 

They recovered their momentum well enough, after that, and Cor amused himself kissing Nyx and wondering if that meant he could actually snark him into arousal at some point. The thought had a certain allure, but then Cor was well aware he was an asshole, and he enjoyed making Nyx's life hard almost as much as he enjoyed being part of it. Nyx dug his nails at his sides as their hips rolled in tandem, skin catching on skin. 

“Is that...” Nyx began, as Cor poured the oil between them, carelessly. The laugh trailed off into a moan as Cor arched his hips, testing the glide. “You're the worst.” 

Cor hooked his arms around the backrest of the couch for leverage, and let Nyx shift them around until he was kneeling on the seat and Cor's legs were sprawled gracelessly over his thighs. 

“The worst what?” He asked almost idly, ignoring the way his breathing hitched when Nyx rubbed the oil into his skin, down the base of his cock, along the tingling skin of his perineum and then all over the rim of his entrance. 

“Everything,” Nyx replied breathily, distracted by the sight. “You're the worst _everything_.” 

Cor made pleased, smug little sounds in the back of his throat as Nyx's fingers slid in and began to steadily ply him open. 

“I do try,” Cor snorted and then hissed when Nyx shifted the angle of his hand. 

“I know you do,” he said, licking his lips and biting on a smile. “We're fucking on a couch, fumbling with sword oil. I feel sixteen.” 

Cor dug his fingers into the backrest of the couch, nails catching on the fabric as Nyx found the right rhythm to make his hips twitch into his hand. 

“You wouldn't have liked me, when I was sixteen,” Cor muttered, teeth bared. “Hadn't mellowed out yet.” 

“I'm not entirely sure I like you _right now_ ,” Nyx replied, even as he leaned in to press his mouth into the center of Cor's chest, scrapping his teeth against the skin there. 

Cor dug his fingers into his hair again, scratching at his scalp rather than holding onto his hair. Nyx bit a whine into his skin, so he did it again, over and over until Nyx was panting almost as hard as he was. He filed that detail away, for later consideration, particularly the way Nyx's eyes went dark again, lust written all over his face. It was a good look on him, Cor decided, a ghost of vanity curling in his chest, mostly because he'd been the one to put it there. 

“Go on,” he murmured, shifting his hips invitingly, “that's enough.” 

“You sure?” Nyx asked, thumb rubbing little cirles on the skin above his entrance. 

The gesture, he supposed, was meant to be soothing, but there was nothing soothing about the heat steadily burning there. It took a moment for Cor to remember enough of himself, to clench hard around the fingers inside him. 

“Fuck,” Nyx hissed, expression dazed. 

“If you'll get on with it, maybe.” 

Nyx bit hard enough to leave a nice ghost of his teeth on a collar bone. Cor hissed, glaring at him for his efforts, and then held Nyx's eye as he shifted, trying to settle more comfortably. It occurred to Cor that they should have probably done this in a bed, like sensible people, but then neither of them would be accused of being sensible by anyone who actually knew them. He groaned as Nyx rubbed the head of his dick against him, taunting. Or testing if the oil would be enough, maybe, but Nyx was a tease and the best part of sex was the lack of expectation to be rational. Cor bared his teeth as the stretch burned up his spine. 

“Did you know you have fangs?” Nyx muttered above him, jaw twitching as he did his best to hold himself steady. “Like. Actual fangs? You could kill somone with those teeth.” 

Cor did know. Cor had, in fact, done just that, at some point. Cor forgot about all about it as Nyx bottomed out, his fingers digging hard enough to leave bruises on Cor's thighs. Nyx ran a hand along Cor's belly, up to his navel and then back down again, nails scratching against his skin, as if he was trying to feel himself inside him. 

“Fuck,” Nyx said, voice low, “you feel good.” 

Cor snorted. 

“Expected it not to?” He muttered, basking in the fullness settled in his gut. 

“Halfway expected you to be wrapped up in barbwire,” Nyx taunted, and then shifted his weight to his knees, leveraging his weight to grind, rather than thrust. “Inside.” 

Cor laughed, quiet and breathless, and braced his feet at the edge of the couch to grind back. 

“Took it out,” he said, “just for you.” 

Nyx rolled his hips in reply, sharper this time. Cor moaned. They built a rhythm that way: Nyx tried to figure out what sound each angle could drag out of Cor, and Cor let him, meeting him halfway. Soon enough Nyx was panting, rolling his hips frantically, and Cor was highstrung enough he came with a stuttery breath, before it even occured to Nyx to touch his cock. 

“Shit, that's hot,” Nyx groaned, slowing down a little, as Cor clenched viciously all around him. Then he leaned in to kiss Cor, despite the fact Cor bared his teeth at him almost like a snarl. “It's really fucking unfair, how hot you are, sometimes.” 

“ _Sometimes_ ,” Cor taunted, snickering into Nyx's mouth. 

“Well, you know,” Nyx grunted, picking up the pace again, as Cor slowed down, coming down from the high. “When you're not so much of an asshole and I can actually appreciate it.” 

They kissed again, teeth and tongues, and Cor knew Nyx wasn't going to last much longer, the way his breathing hitched in time with every thurst. He basked in the feeling. 

“Gracious of you,” Cor drawled, vowels dragging, “to notice at all.” 

“I know,” Nyx grunted, dropping his head on his shoulder. “Shit, I knew we'd forgotten something.” When Cor made a questioning noise in the back of his throat, Nyx shoved his hips harder, as if to make a point. “Condom. For the mess.” 

Cor snorted, trying to summon enough energy to care, but all his attention was focused on the way his body yielded to the pressure of Nyx's cock inside him. Like they were sixteen, indeed. 

“Fuck it,” he muttered, “I need a shower anyway.” 

Nyx laughed, breath caught somewhere in his throat. 

“That's gonna be so gross when it stops being hot,” he told him, as he slid a hand down Cor's side and around him, using it for leverage to change the angle of his hips. “So fucking hot.” 

Cor shuddered, when Nyx came inside him, and then moaned again when his lips found his. They panted into each other's mouth, each kiss slowly winding down more than the one before, until they were just laying there, breathing each other's breath and basking in the leftover warmth. Cor was aware Nyx was staring at him, as he sat back on his knees again and slid out, but he didn't bother to hide the shudder at the feeling, anyway. He arched an eyebrow, questioning, when Nyx didn't immediately fall on him again. 

“So that was a thing,” Nyx said, trying to flippant but not quite making the mark, “we just did. You okay?” 

Trust Nyx, Cor thought irritably, to start thinking at precisely the moment when he shouldn't. Cor folded an arm behind his head, well aware he probably looked like a wreck and not able to muster a single fuck to give about it. 

“Seven out of ten,” he deadpanned, “for false advertising and a disappointing lack of walls.” 

Nyx stared at him blankly for a moment, before he choked on a laugh, burying his face in his hands. 

“God, you're an asshole.” 

Cor shrugged. 

At least he was an asshole who got what he wanted, anyway. 

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

_ii. year iv_

* * *

“And I suppose you must think yourself very clever?” Nyx asked, giving Cor his best impression of Cor's best dead-eyed stare. 

Cor, wearing a significantly bigger version of Prompto's shirt, shrugged indolently. It made for a very ridiculous picture, Nyx had to admit, and had he not been forced to spend an hour trying to explain to his son why he couldn't walk outside wearing a shirt with a cactuar flipping the bird to the world, he would have found it pretty funny. It was perhaps a little too small for Cor's frame, hugging his body in a way that couldn't hope to hide it, which honestly, Nyx was perfectly okay with: Cor was in peak physical condition, and Nyx was not one to deny himself the eye candy. 

It was just the quietly smug air around the bastard, as he leaned back on the counter, one elbow hooked on it, and sipped his coffee. It was the way he crossed his ankles, pajama pants distractingly loose when compared to the shirt. It was his borderline bored expression, arranged in a very careful way that Nyx knew was meant to rile him up. 

“A fair bit, yes,” he admitted, and then smirked lazily when Nyx glared at him. 

“You're an asshole,” Nyx deadpanned, not so much an accusation as a clear statement of fact. 

Cor nodded and saluted at him with his coffee. It took a moment for Nyx to realize the mug had a cactuar on it, lying on its side, with scrawling text around it that read: SEE ANYTHING YOU LIKE? 

“Indeed.” 

Normal people, Nyx theorized, having never really interacted with one of them, probably just asked for sex from their significant others. Something nice and simple like, _hey, I'm kinda horny this morning_ , or, _it's been a while since we've had some fun,_ maybe just, _hey, let's fuck_. 

They weren't normal people. 

They had a very energetic toddler for a son, one that needed constant supervision lest he set the world on fire with an angelic smile on his face. Most of the time, sex was too much of a production for the time they had for it. Nyx usually reached out for Cor, those blessed few minutes he had for himself, just a little touch here and a little look there, and Cor's eyes would narrow and he'd touch him with purpose. Nyx got by fine, between productions, with Cor's hand around his cock and his eyes pinning him in place, in bed or the shower or the couch. It was hot, it felt good. Sometimes they'd have extra time or Cor was feeling horny too, and then he'd drop to his knees and Nyx would just stop existing for a few minutes because Cor had fangs in his mouth, like actual, sharp fangs, and there were few things in life that made Nyx come undone so throughly as the feeling of those fangs scratching the length of his cock. 

But then there were times that Cor wanted sex, production and all. And it wasn't often – Nyx ribbed him about it, teasing and taunting because it made him growl back – but when he was in the mood, he didn't ask for it. He didn't touch Nyx, to see if he was into it. When Cor wanted to be fucked, he conspired to get Prompto out of the house and then snarked at Nyx until he bent him over the nearest solid object and fucked him into that smug, sated compliance of his that was as much a reward for him as it was for Nyx. 

Nyx reached out and plucked the mug from his hands. He took a sip from it, more for effect than any real desire to taste the syrupy sweet monstrosity Cor liked to drink and call coffee, and then placed it on the far corner of the counter, pressing up against Cor as he did so. He didn't step back, afterwards, and instead stood there, almost nose to nose, wanting to see what Cor would do. He had an inkling, really, but he liked to let Cor decide the mood. It was, after all, his idea, and Nyx hadn't regretted it yet. 

Cor folded his arms against the counter, resting on his elbows on it and using it as leverage to arch his body up against Nyx's, grinding in a single, sinuous motion. 

“Gonna be like that, huh,” Nyx whispered, placing his hands on Cor's shoulders and then dragging them down his chest, nails digging hard through the thin fabric of his shirt, “I can dig it.” 

“Thought you could dig anything,” Cor snorted, far too smug for someone spreading his legs to let Nyx slide between them, and kept his eyes fixed on Nyx's lips, less than an inch away his own as he hooked them on his thighs. 

“If it's from you, yeah,” Nyx agreed, not quite laughing as he slid his hands down and around Cor's waist, and then lower, and then he grinned as he grabbed Cor's ass to pull his hips forward into a proper grind, and he groaned into his mouth. “I'm all always up to take what you dish out, Marshal.” 

“I thought I was the one taking it,” Cor muttered in perfect deadpan, and Nyx kissed him because otherwise he was liable to start cackling and possibly never stop. 

Cor clenched his hands onto the counter and let Nyx hold onto most of his weight. Nyx used the hold to sway and grind into him, just building up heat for the main event. The nice thing about kissing Cor was that it shut him up. Well, there were a good deal of good things that came with kissing Cor, in Nyx's experience, but shutting him up was the nicest sometimes. 

Alas, nothing lasted forever. 

“Bed?” Nyx asked, mouthing along the edge of Cor's jaw. Cor groaned in the back of his throat, hips rolling slightly, and Nyx smirked. “Or maybe not.” 

“Do I want to know what that's doing there?” Cor asked, barely breaking the kiss, as Nyx summoned a very nondescript tube of lube out of the void where his kukris usually resided. 

Nyx considered an honest answer for a split second, but decided not to at the last moment. Cor was as likely to find the joke funny as to lose momentum entirely. Besides, getting into the nuances of the fact one of the longest running gags in the Kingsglaive was the communal, anonymous lube jar that had somehow ended up stashed away with their weapons and also kept getting used and replaced periodically, was a bit too involved for what they were doing. Perhaps later, when Nyx wasn't too riled up to be frustrated if Cor decided it was weird instead of hilarious. Later. 

“What can I say?” He replied, grinning as he shifted Cor's weight to one hand – and felt the shiver associated to it, because Cor liked that and Nyx liked that he did – to fumble one handed with the lube. “Still haven't given up hope you'll let me bend you over your desk one day.” 

Cor caught Nyx's lower lip between his teeth, his fangs specially, and Nyx lost track of his train of thought entirely. 

“Stop being distractingly sexy when I'm trying to fuck you,” Nyx groaned, as Cor let go of his lip to lick it instead. 

Nyx kissed him again, rather than let him start snarking, and groned as Cor's arched up against him while he fussed with their pants. Should they be having sex in the kitchen? Probably not. Did Nyx give one solitary fuck about it? Not at the moment. Prompto was gone, Cor was being an ass and they hadn't had sex, actual, proper, langid, take-your-fucking-time sex in ages. Nyx acknowledged the fact they were probaby not going to take their time, right now, but then, Prompto was gone for the entire day, and there was something to the idea of dragging Cor back to bed once they were done. Maybe also possibly set his stupid shirt on fire. 

“Don't really need to fuss too much,” Cor muttered against his mouth, breathing coming in short little gasps as Nyx's fingers slid into him at just the right angle and caused him to grind up on reflex. 

“Maybe I like fussing about you,” Nyx replied, grinning when Cor let out one of those soft growls of his that felt like a victory every time. “Ever thought about that?” 

“...on occasion,” Cor snorted, because he was an asshole and Nyx liked him best because of it. “Fuck.” 

“That's the idea, yes,” Nyx laughed, and kissed him again as Cor started rolling his hips into his fingers. 

“Nyx,” Cor growled. 

“You're cute when you're needy,” Nyx replied, and felt his breath stutter when Cor reached out to bite his neck for the jab. “'s good for my ego.” 

He did pull his fingers away, if only because he knew if Cor started biting him, they were going to get derailed entirely. Nyx was going to come inside him, watching him snarl with want. He wasn't going to make a mess between them and writhe in place just because some ancient corner of his brain flipped the fuck out the moment Cor sank his fangs into his skin. The mechanics of their current position were a bit daunting though. The counter was too low for Cor to keep a consistent angle and Nyx needed maybe three extra arms to juggle everything at once. 

“Fuck it,” he snapped, after a few minutes of trying to work it out. “You like walls best anyway.” 

Cor made a small, surprised gasp when Nyx pulled him away from the counter, letting go of it to wrap his arms around Nyx's shoulders and then moaned low in the back of his throat when Nyx turned just enough to press him up the nearest wall. 

“Lies,” Cor muttered pressing his weight against his shoulders and rolling his hips invitingly as they found their place, and Nyx cock slid tauntingly against his entrance. 

“It's cool, you know,” Nyx said, rolling his hips in place mostly because it made Cor growl, and there were few sounds that drilled themselves straight into his groin quite as much as that. “You like wall sex, I like biting. We all have our little kinks.” 

“The only kink I have right now is to have an orgasm in the next few minutes,” Cor snapped irritably, eyes half-lidded as he rested his head against the wall. 

Nyx watched avidly as his eyes slid close when he obliged, pressing the head of his cock against the wet, not-quite loose ring of muscle, and drank in the expression in Cor's face as he slid in until he bottomed out. Cor was tight around him, because he was an impatient shithead who never really let Nyx loosen him up properly – one of these days, Nyx was going to lay him in bed and make him come with just his fingers, he was pretty sure he could pull it off – and Nyx wanted nothing more than to rut into him until they both stopped thinking for a while. He waited, though, because the best part of sex was to share the pleasure, not hog all of it. And Cor really did let him do whatever the fuck he wanted, most of the time; the least Nyx could do was make sure he was alright. 

Actually alright, that was, not Cor's crooked, borderline insane version of alright that kept tripping Nyx's brain every time he stumbled on it. 

It was silly, obviously. Cor was a grown man, certainly older and better equiped to handle life than Nyx was, but he couldn't help the urge to want to take care of the sourly asshole, even if he knew it was wholly unnecessary. Nyx just liked looking after the people he cared about. And he cared about Cor, a lot. He was dry and cutting and an unrepentant asshole who bought their son obscene shirts for the explicit purpose of making Nyx have to explain why he couldn't wear them, and Nyx still liked him anyway. He liked what they had, all the weird, terrifyingly intimiate bits of it, and every now and then Nyx was struck by the fact he had a halfway decent life these days and he didn't even know how he'd gotten there, only that he never wanted to leave. 

Cor clenched around him, hard enough to make Nyx's breath trip in his lungs and his head drop to rest on his shoulder. 

“Okay,” he whispered, pressing close and digging his fingers into Cor's thighs hard enough he knew there'd be bruises later, “okay.” 

It took a moment to build up momentum, to find his footing and the right angle, and then Cor was moaning his name into his ear, and Nyx thrust into him like it was the last thing he'd ever do. There was always something humbling and terrible, about fucking Cor like this, because it was still Cor and Nyx was always keenly aware of it. He was still prickly and snippy and a relentless asshole, but he let go, in Nyx's arms, and that was a trip in and of itself. 

“You feel so good,” Nyx told him, panting into his skin, “so fucking good.” 

Nyx knew he was rambling and he didn't care, every roll of his hips made Cor groan and every so often he'd say something that made him clench on reflex, so of course he had to say it over and over, until Cor shuddered and missed the rhythm, hips grinding desperately against him. 

“I'm-” Cor hissed, his entire body shivering against Nyx's, and Nyx pressed hard against him, feeling his muscles burn with the effort, almost like he wanted to push until Cor melted into the wall. 

“Go on,” he urged, mouthing Cor's neck messily, “can only be an improvement on that fucking shirt.” 

Cor laughed and gasped and then came with a low growl that trailed off into a groan, when Nyx dipped a hand between them and fumbled with his cock. Nyx rode it out with a moan of his own, shuddering when Cor sank his teeth into the side of his neck again, fangs scratching skin hard enough he swore he felt it tear a little. When he picked up the pace again, Cor licked clumsily at the bite, like Nyx needed soothing, like it hadn't taken him nearly to the edge. Nyx shifted them and kissed him, sloppy and wet and terrible, and he got maybe six full thrusts more before he was climaxing too, buried as deep into Cor as he could possibly get. 

Nyx slid slowly down to the ground, pulling Cor down with him, until he was resting his weight on his knees and Cor was sprawled against the wall, skin flushed and breathing hard. 

“Well fucked is a gorgeous look on you,” Nyx told him, running his hands up and down along Cor's sides beneath the shirt, thumbs tracing along the stray scar here and there. “Just so you know.” 

“So you keep telling me,” Cor mused quietly, tilting his head back against the wall and flexing the muscles down his belly in ways that made Nyx's toes curl, because he was still half hard and buried deep inside him. “Not sure it's not just your ego talking.” 

“It's definitely my ego,” Nyx snorted, “trying desperately to high five yours.” 

“My ego is currently dripping come and being quite alright with it, thank you,” Cor deadpaned, one eyebrow arched sardonically. “I could use a shower.” 

“Later,” Nyx pressed, leaning in to kiss him, not slow like a wrap up, but more like asking for an encore. 

“To be young and tireless,” Cor snorted, but kissed back, one arm wrapped around Nyx's shoulders, his fingers absently fiddling with his braids. 

“Well, this was just the prerequisite wall fuck to keep you happy,” Nyx taunted, grinning when Cor tugged reproachfully at his braids. “Now you're gonna let me lay you in bed and fuck you properly.” 

“I am, aren't I?” 

“And then I'm going to burn that monstrosity of a shirt,” Nyx went on, feeling his toes curl when Cor clenched his muscles again. 

“Don't know about that,” Cor replied, smirking. “Got so many fond memories of it, now.” 

Nyx dropped his forehead into Cor's shoulder again, back bowed in a way that made him shift his hips and resulted in Cor's breath hitching. 

“It's going to be a thing, isn't it,” Nyx said, not bothering to make it a proper question, “you and stupid shirts that make me want to hurt you.” 

“Or fuck me up a wall, yes,” Cor replied. “I think it will be.” 

Nyx laughed. Because, really, what else was he supposed to do, if not fall a little more in love with the jerk every day? 


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

_iii. year iv_

* * *

“Regis?” Cor asked, staring at the ceiling of Regis' study – there were exquisitely carved wooden beams adorning the slightly vaulted ceiling of the room, which had once served as King Mors' informal office, and along them were an uncountable number of indents where Cor and Regis had thrown knives into it, playing a game of chicken by taunting the other to try and avoid the King's wrath for their antics; something inside Cor always twitched when he saw that, and the fact Regis refused to have it fixed or changed or somehow erased, like Cor's presence was in fact worth preserving – lying on his back on the plush carpet with an arm behind his head and a half-full glass of whiskey in hand. “What the fuck am I even doing?” 

Regis, who was also lying on his back as long as he was on the carpet, and kept making sure Cor's glass was more full than empty, snorted. 

“Being married, apparently,” he said, snickering when Cor groaned. “Which is... cold, Cor. Really cold. _I_ invited you to my wedding.” 

“Your wedding was a disaster of fantastical proportions and I live every day trying to forget everything that happened five years before and five years after it,” Cor muttered sullenly, lifting his head to take a sip of the glass, which was immediately replaced, because Regis was an _asshole_. “I'm not married to Nyx fucking Ulric.” 

“Well, no,” Regis agreed, which made Cor squint suspiciously at him, because if there was someone in the world who knew the kind of absolute shithead that Regis Lucis Caelum was and had always been, it was Cor. Regis' lips twitched into a half smile. “You just wish you were.” 

Cor thought about Nyx, sharing his bed and his table and his couch, slithering around his life in such a way as to not topple it out of place while still making it painfully, endlessly noticeable he was there. Nyx poked and pulled and touched and kissed and snarked at him, every step of the way, from the moment they woke up to the moment they crawled back under the covers. Cor should have hated that, he really should have, but he didn't. He detested people who touched him for no damn good reason and still he never once pulled away whenever Nyx sprawled on his person like an overgrown cat. And then there was Prompto to consider, too. He didn't mind having Prompto crawl all over his lap, sticky little fingers leaving trails all over his clothes. He didn't mind bright, smart eyes peering at him and asking all sorts of ridiculous questions, so much so he deigned to answer every single one of them. 

He didn't mind. 

Not at all. 

Cor took a longer sip of his drink, something closer to a gulp. 

“ _Fuck me_ ,” he muttered in despair, sitting up to properly bury his face in his hands. 

Regis laughed, because of course he did, and Cor growled low in the back of his throat, a profoundly frustrated noise that normally made people shut the fuck up and stand to full attention in his presence. Regis only laughed harder, and also reached out to poke his side. Cor snarled warningly and shifted his hands enough to show a flash of teeth. 

“And that would be your cue to fold in for the night, I believe,” Regis snorted, grinning wryly when all he got for his trouble was another glare. His expression softened enough, though, and that was enough for Cor to let him pull him into his arms with little more than a murmur of token protest. “I'm happy for you, my friend.” 

Cor made a tiny grumbling noise and then helped Regis back up, which was slightly more of an ordeal than it should be, if nothing else because he was well and truly drunk, and he needed to stop every five seconds to reorient himself. He didn't protest when, after walking Regis back to the safety of his quarters, Regis called for Edwin and told him to drive Cor home. Cor... found Edwin mostly acceptable, even if the man never failed to twitch nervously in his presence. Everybody did anyway, he didn't hold it against him anymore he did most people. The ride back to the apartment was quiet, and Cor spent it with his head propped up the cool glass of the window, watching the lights pass them by. He lost track of time, for a bit, and the next thing he knew, he was standing in the elevator, trying to count rows of buttons to find the right one for his floor, because reading numbers was beyond him at that point. Eventually, he figured it out, and then he was leaning against the wall, basking in the soothing lurch of the elevator crawling up. Once inside the apartment, though, it was easy to stumble his way into bed, not bothering to turn the lights on as he sidestepped chairs and corners without thinking much about it. 

He found Nyx lying in bed – _their_ bed – over the covers, with his arms folded casually over his belly and his ankles crossed, staring at him with glinting eyes, because of course Cor was being quiet – as quiet as he could be, anyway, considering how drunk he was – but Nyx was a soldier and only marginally less jumpy than Cor himself. 

“You're so wasted,” Nyx mused in lieu of a greeting, “had fun?” 

Nyx spread his arms and uncrossed his ankles, and when Cor fell on him with a loud groan, he couldn't really tell which one had happened first. It didn't really matter, though. Mostly because his mouth found Nyx's at some point, and then a chunk of time went missing. But Nyx was still kissing him back, when he got a hold of himself again, so it was fine. He was fine. Cor didn't remember holding Nyx's hands down with his own, but he didn't mind the grip, not when Nyx was arching up against him like that because it meant he was grinding up against him in a way that dragged a low moan out of his throat. 

“You're _still_ the weirdest drunk,” Nyx mused wryly, biting on Cor's lower lip. He rolled his hips up again, eyes half-lidded as he watched whatever the hell happened on Cor's face when he did it, which he apparently enjoyed. “Something on your mind?” 

Cor pulled away from Nyx mouth long enough to tilt his head and bury his teeth into his neck. Nyx buckled on reflex, yelp melting into a gasp that slithered straight between Cor's legs. It was the nice thing about Nyx: Cor knew what he liked and how he liked it. He snickered into Nyx's throat when fingers dug sharply into his sides in retaliation, though he couldn't quite remember when he let go of those hands in the first place. It was always nice, anyway, having a sure way of getting under Nyx's skin, particularly when words were being hard – harder than usual, at that – and he wasn't in the right frame of mind to tease properly. 

Time kept skipping beats in places, and Cor kept drowning in it because it was still better than... well, whatever had driven him to drink himself into a stupor in the first place. He avoided thinking any more than he strictly had to, precisely because it left him stuck in a rut like that. If he didn't think about it, it wasn't a problem he had to focus on, obviously. And if it wasn't a problem – or at the very least, _his_ problem – he could go dealing with everything else that was absolutely, decidedly his problem and he couldn't rightly shrug off. 

“Easy, there,” Nyx said against the crown of Cor's head, because Cor had a hand around his cock, and maybe lube was not by nature a very tidy affair, but being drunk only meant a bigger mess. “What's the rush?” 

Cor stared down at him for a moment, trying to figure out where their clothes went, and then deciding it didn't really matter. It didn't really matter, and that was the thing, he realized, swallowing hard, that had sent him tumbling down to try and find solace at the bottom of a glass. Nyx and his hands and his mouth and the insidious way he wrapped himself around him, seemed to hold him in place when he wasn't looking. It didn't matter. No one cared and no one minded, and Cor kept expecting something or someone to come up and reveal it was all just a terrible idea and he should stop, but it kept not happening. Because it didn't matter, if he was happy for the first time in what felt like eons. It didn't matter if he woke up and his first thought wasn't the urge to walk out the window. It didn't matter. There was no powerful, unstoppable force demanding he gave it up, no reason he shouldn't do what he was doing. 

The thought frightened him a lot more than he cared to admit, so he endeavored not to think of it at all, if he could. 

If he didn't think about it, he wouldn't call attention to it, he wouldn't invite the world to come in and figure out how to make it wrong and terrible for him to feel the way he did. Maybe if he didn't name the feeling, if he didn't own up to it, it wouldn't be used against him. 

“Nothing in particular,” Cor muttered in reply, staring down at the easy affection in Nyx's eyes, clouded with lust and want but not enough not to tease. 

He kept watching as he took in the tip of his dick and kept sliding down his length, savoring the burn of it. He watched Nyx's eyes widen and his hands raise as if to hold him, stop him, and then fall down, all of him, boneless into the sheets as he bottomed out and Cor sat on his hips. There was something decadent in taking him like that, Cor thought, grinding down and just basking in the fullness of it, eyes half-lidded as Nyx writhed beneath him, all the taunting and teasing clogged up his throat, tangled into a string of moans. Cor took the opportunity to run his hands up his body, skin and scars catching on the callouses in his hands. 

He found a rhythm to his hips, one that made the most out that tiny spark of pain at the base of his spine, that turned it into a pulse every time he angled right. It was rare he got to indulge in that, fucking Nyx, purely because Nyx liked his pleasure as painfree as possible, and Cor usually didn't have enough energy to argue with him about it. So he basked in it, while he had it, and traced his fingers along the edge of the massive burn scar across most of Nyx's chest. It looked like lightning, zigzagging tendrils spiraling out from the center of it, and Cor tried to imagine what sort of thing left a mark like that, because he was stupid like that. 

“You're the worst,” Nyx hissed at him, tongue catching on the words, as he smirked wryly up at him, hands reaching to hold onto Cor's hips. “Literally, the worst. It's great.” 

Cor stared down at him, felt his thumbs rub slow, steady circles at the dip of his hips, and leaned in to press his teeth against the edge of the scar, folding down onto Nyx with a sigh. Time became the rhythm of Nyx's cock pulsing up inside him, of the warm twitch of his rim, stretched hot and taunt around him. He still couldn't tell how long they laid there, soaking in the warmth, before Nyx sat up and drag him up with him. Cor whined as his dick rubbed tantalizingly between them, trapped where it laid hard and leaking against his belly, and whined again when Nyx caught his hands in his own, fingers fitting snuggly into his own, and held them down against the crumpled bedspread. 

It occurred to Cor, as Nyx kissed him and urged him to raise his weight on his knees and let himself fall down onto him, purely with his tongue inside his mouth... it occurred to him that they were going to make a mess. Had already made a mess. 

“You can do better than that,” Nyx told him, voice low and teasing, and then took his hands and held them behind his back, making him arch his spine to find his balance, fingers still caught on each other's. “C'mon.” 

Cor could, in fact, do much better. He could also do worse. He fucked himself on Nyx's lap with a steady pace, hips rising and falling just enough to be felt, and his knees creaked in protest until he found the right angle, and then it didn't matter that his thighs were burning with the effort, because every time he let himself fall, he got sucker-punched in the gut and shoved one step closer to orgasm. 

He almost didn't notice when he got there, distracted by Nyx's lips worrying that tiny patch of sensitive skin beneath his jaw and the throb of his shoulders, tired of holding his arms in place. He slumped down against Nyx, like a puppet with its strings cut, and groaned at each twitch that ended with skin rubbing against the sensitive head of his cock. Nyx was still hard and unyielding inside him, but the pressure wasn't quite as nice as before. It felt so much better when Nyx laid him on his side and slid right back in, fucking him hard and desperate, and all Cor could do was press his face into the pillow and drown in the smell of _them_. 

* * *

He woke up in a mess exactly as tacky and sticky and gross as he'd have imagined, except he had Nyx wrapped up around his back, as if he were trying to melt and sink into him through his pores. Cor laid there, listening to Nyx breathe against his throat, and waited for the inevitable pulse of guilt that never strayed far away from anything that made him remotely content with his lot in life. 

He waited and waited, and Nyx woke up first. 

“Wanna talk about last night?” He whispered, arms firmly holding Cor in place. 

Cor thought about Regis and the awkward, terrifying string of realizations that followed the first glass. 

“Not really,” Cor whispered back, closing his eyes and bracing for questions anyway, because it was unlike him, to stumble home that far gone, and he knew from experience drunken sex was only ever good for whoever was actually drunk anyway. 

“Okay,” Nyx said instead, and pressed a kiss behind his ear, before the hangover could really settle in, “shower and breakfast?” 

Cor turned around to look at him in the eye, trying to find the catch – there was always a catch, always, even if Nyx didn't think there was, didn't mean to have one, there had to be, and Cor- 

Cor stared at the twitch of lips, barely there a smile, and thought how rightfully unfair it was that Nyx's mouth settled to rest like that, without him thinking about it, that the basis of most of the expressions he gave Cor were rooted in that half smile, lazy and content and entirely unconcerned by the world at large. 

Cor leaned into kiss him, twisted his spine in place until he was right where he wanted to be, and Nyx laughed into his mouth, fingers scratching at his scalp and holding him in place. 

“ _Sex_ , shower and breakfast,” Nyx snickered, eyes dark and fingers sliding purposefully down Cor's spine. “Gotcha.” 

“Shut up,” Cor hissed at him, one knee hooked on his hips, entire body pliant and welcoming, because he didn't know how to say _I love you_ , without jinxing the whole thing. 

Nyx laughed and fucked him and made him forget how doomed they were, at least for a while. 


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

_iv. year v_

* * *

Nyx liked fucking Cor's throat. 

It wouldn't be fair to say he liked it when Cor gave him head, because that implied a level of agency that Cor just didn't have, most of the time. Cor said he was lazy, about sex, and he was, letting Nyx fuck him every which way he felt like it, often with little more than a pithy deadpan to go with it. Nyx thought there might be something more to it, because of course he did, but he wasn't entirely sure he was ready to take a plunge into that mess. He wasn't really sure Cor would let him, anyway. He'd take him along, to his so called concerts of loud music and even louder fuckery, and it had felt both like trust and a test, to see what he'd do. Nyx had always figured Cor was old enough to do with himself as he pleased, and so long no one was hurt – and it was funny and perhaps a bit deluded of him to feel that way, but he couldn't see Cor hurting someone, not like that, couldn't even grasp the idea enough to put it into words – it wasn't his business, what Cor had done before they met. 

Nyx liked to think of it as trust, regardless. Because Six knew Cor could damn well put a dead cold stop to things, if he wasn't into it, but he'd never had, so far. Nyx liked to check in, anyway, because as easy as it'd be to get drunk on the bubbly, frizzy feeling in his veins, whenever they got rough and Cor just _yielded_ , that wasn't what he was in it for. That wasn't what he wanted. It was nice and terrifying and a little humbling, trying to blindly feel out the shape of Cor's boundaries in bed, but Nyx wanted what came before and after a lot more. The weight and warmth of Cor's body next to his, in bed or in the couch. He liked the short, precise deadpans, profane or not, adoring his days and the weirdly lighthearted effect they tended to have in his mood. He liked sharing lunch and bickering about breakfast and downright fighting dirty to settle dinner. 

But he also, and this was something he'd had to come to terms with at some point and now was little more than a well-known truth, really, really liked fucking Cor's throat. He wasn't nice about it. He didn't have to be. It was rough and desperate and his dick got caught in Cor's fangs every few thrusts and that only made it feel _better_. Sharper. Real. 

They had a routine, by now, whenever either of them got deployed. Cor liked to sleep, when he got back, on and on and on, until he made Nyx wonder if he'd wake up ever again. He always did, eventually, at his own pace. He liked being touched, when he woke up, like he needed to remap his place in the world, though he was quiet and prickly and almost vicious whenever he spoke. Nyx didn't mind: every time Cor didn't outright reject his touch felt like a victory – even though Cor had never actually rejected his touch, but his brain was dumb and Nyx ignored it as best he could. So they'd sprawl on the couch and watch Prompto watch TV, which was infinitely more entertaining than watching TV on their own. Then they'd put him to bed and go back to the couch and sprawl in silence, just breathing and existing and being okay with it, each other and themselves. Nyx always knew when Cor had found his footing, because a few days later, he always woke up with a hand around his dick and Cor's fangs lovingly tearing the back of his neck to shreds, each bite scrupulously placed so that his hair would fan over it, brushing the irritated skin and reminding him all day it was there. 

Nyx went to see his son, when he came home. He made sure he was fine, as safe and whole as he'd left him, still there, still his son, and then, and only then, when he was done soothing the worst of the screaming in his head by listening to his boy laugh, then he'd find Cor. Cor, who looked at him with darkened eyes and let him crowd him inside the shower, back pressed against the icy cold tiles with a hiss that invited Nyx to do worse. Cor, who slid to his knees under the pelting hot water and let him dig his fingers into his hair, nails trying to carve grooves in his scalp when he swallowed around the head of his cock and the back of his throat just _gave_. Nyx fucked him like that, mean and raw, one arm folded against the wall, the other clenched hard and unforgiving into the short strands of dark brown hair. Cor sat on his heels and closed his eyes, and he let him, all welcoming warmth and a wet, endless glide, breathing and swallowing around the shaft of his cock just enough to not pass out. 

Nyx remembered making a joke about it – he always made jokes about everything, most specially things he really shouldn't, because everything was a little easier to bear, if you could laugh about it – but Cor had replied, laconic and terrible, that _not_ passing out was definitely a learned skill. He hadn't said anything else beyond that, because he never did, not unless Nyx asked outright. Nyx never asked. 

Today was different, though. 

He'd come home mid-morning, shooed away from the Citadel – kicked the fuck out, really, only in not so many words – by the Oracle herself. Ordinarily, he'd have taken a day or two, post getting home, before going back to work, but his last deployment had not been ordinary by any stretch of the imagination. Things would need to change, dramatically, in light of recent events. And having played a not insignificant role in those events, he was expected to explain himself. Over and over again. He'd joked with Cor, when he'd first arrived home, covered in grime and sweat, patches of his uniform still carrying the Glacian's frost in them, that this had been his own version of Cor's disappearing act, two years prior, when he'd gone to inspect the border and ended up in Gralea instead. Except Cor hadn't fucking ended the war, in that outing, though Nyx suspected only because he hadn't had enough time in his hands to do it. Nyx hadn't, either, he'd just been there to see the full might of the Empire crumble beneath the Glacian's heel, her Phyrric victory as she collapsed along the endless rows of imperial soldiers, the red lights snuffing out one by one as they were smothered by snow. 

Cor had adopted Aranea, in his absence, and Nyx was still too hollowed out inside, to form an opinion about it, though he suspected the answer was going to be yes. He couldn't fathom a reason to say no, not after catching a good look on Cor's face when he'd brought her back, sweaty and dusty from Six only knew where. But he was still hollowed out, inside, moving on sheer momentum and going through the motions because he wasn't allowed to stop. 

He'd gone home, today, after Sylva threw him out and told him to not come back, and Nyx was so used to doing as she said, he hadn't questioned it until he was sitting on the couch, staring at the blank screen of the turned off TV, and remembered that while she was Queen by her own right, his loyalty belonged to his King. 

He'd called Cor, instead. Felt reckless and selfish for doing so, right up until Cor walked into the apartment an hour later, and then Nyx had felt things might actually slide back on track, once more. He'd kissed Cor, before he could ask, teeth and tongue and need, fingers holding tight into the lapels of his jacket, and they'd stumbled into the shower, shortly after. It was different, though, even though Cor was sitting on his heels, throat slack around his cock, eyes closed and fingers digging into his thighs, leaving perfect imprints that would become bruises in the morning. It was different, even though everything was exactly the same as always, and Nyx fucked his throat just the way he liked it, one merciless thrust after the other, until he came down Cor's throat and heard him choke on it. 

Nyx shuddered a breath, back arched forward as he watched Cor cough, come smears on his lips not washed out entirely yet. 

Cor's apartment was well-built. The hot water didn't run out, if you took too long to shower. The sink didn't leak unless you forgot to close the handle all the way. Nyx appreciated the fact the water hitting them was just as hot as when they'd first stepped in, because it meant he didn't have to rush himself, didn't have to pretend he didn't want to enjoy this and make it last. 

“Come here,” he whispered, even though he was the one who slid down to his knees, hands tilting Cor's face up so he could kiss him, mess and all. “Thank you,” he added, because he always did, and Cor always looked away, and said nothing and it made Nyx want to kiss him and fuck him and then carefully slide inside his bones. “How long do we have?” 

Because he'd called and Cor had come, quick enough Nyx could guess he'd left more than one important thing hanging. It did things, to him, things that made his stomach twist and his lungs fill with water, whenever Cor seemed to literally drop everything to be there, just because he asked. It made him wary of asking, unless he was desperate to crawl out of his own skin. It felt selfish, though. Childish. Cor had a million other things to do, was needed by a million other people who needed him for tangible, sensible reasons. Nyx could sit back and wait, and they could figure something out later, once the world stopped freaking out because the war was effectively over and for all they had hoped for it, no one was actually ready to face the reality of it. 

“Long as you want,” Cor replied, still not looking at him, head tilted back against the tiles, and Nyx's thumb rubbing against his bottom lip. “Tomorrow, maybe,” he added, and finally met his eyes, offering a wry half-shrug to go with it. “Sent the kids out, since I figured... you'd want time alone.” 

“Sent _where_?” Nyx asked, licking his own lips, tasting a ghost of himself in them, and focusing on that and the pulse of heat between his legs, rather than the monstrously large weight of acknowledging the fact Cor thought this was a worthwhile use of his time. 

“The Amicitia Estate,” Cor replied, like it was the most natural thing in the world, their world, and then, “you were gone a while.” 

Nyx tilted his head up, fingers on his jaw, against the meticulously well-kept beard. 

“And you didn't miss me, of course,” he said, in an echo of that conversation they had, when he'd first come home, teasing the truth in a lie because it was easier, safer- 

“...a tad,” Cor replied, rather than the taunting lie of before, voice soft and eyes half-mast. 

Nyx remembered, in that moment, that they were sitting on the floor of the running shower, because the sound echoed like a roar in his ears. 

“I'm gonna lay you in bed,” Nyx said, pressing another, longer kiss against Cor's mouth, “and I'm going to fuck you until I feel better about this mess.” 

Cor shuddered under his hands and the water remained as steadily hot, so it wasn't from that. Admittedly, it probably had something to do with the fact he was still hard, from having Nyx fuck his throat open without a care in the world. Maybe. They dried themselves half-heartedly, sharing the same towel, because they were going to make a mess and take an actual proper shower after, so what was the point? 

The point was that the water was hot, and it helped chase out the last of the chill that had been stuck under Nyx's skin for weeks now, like tiny hooks of ice holding him in place. 

Also the sound Cor made, when Nyx pressed two fingers into him. 

That helped, too, spread warm and soothing through his veins, unfurling like a wave of foam, soft and shapeless. 

Cor folded his arms over a pillow and buried his face into it, back curved upwards like a stroke of a brush, weight settled neatly on his knees. It kept his hands still and gave him an angle where he could still speak – swear and hiss and demand Nyx get the fuck on with it, usually – and it had taken them months to find the right balance, bantering and bargaining, until they found a place it worked. It worked. 

Nyx dripped more lube onto his fingers, uncaring about the mess, because they were alone and it wasn't even noon yet. They were going to ruin the sheets and pretending to care at this point was ridiculous. He slid his fingers back in, starting at two because Cor was too impatient to start at one – and he was pliant, even when he was snarling at him, not loose but willing. Nyx wondered, as he was wont to do, if he'd get there, one day, to ply Cor open loose around his fingers, for nothing else but the pleasure of hearing him choke on his own orgasm. If today were any other day, Nyx would be game to try: Cor's dick was hard and heavy, hanging between his thighs, and Nyx considered the logistics of trying to wrap his mouth around it, but he was too keyed up for that. He added more lube, but not more fingers, even though he wanted to, worried about it, when he wasn't tense and tripping, falling to pieces one breath at the time. Cor didn't have sex, was the thing, sex happened to Cor, because he was lazy and willing, and so every tiny thing he brought up, Nyx endeavored to give him, if he could. This one had been harder, than most of them, but they'd made a deal. Nyx got two fingers and all the lube he could get, and Cor got the burn of that stretch, always, and a throb in the morning that reminded him what they'd done. 

Nyx watched the ring of muscle close stubbornly around his knuckles and knew exactly how it'd feel, clenching down at the base of his cock. He pressed his free hand between his own legs, hurrying along the second round, when Cor's breathing started to hitch and his hissing dropped an octave into actually threatening. It was the oxymoron with Cor and sex, and Nyx was drunk on it, entirely taken by the whole gnarled mess of unsaid things, unasked things. He pulled his fingers free – tight, so tight, it was going to hurt and he was going to die, sinking into that heat, he just knew – wiping them on the sheets because they were going to make a mess anyway. He reached a hand, wrapped it on an ankle, palm covering the thin, intricate lines of the King's personal sigil, ink faded with nearly twenty years of wear. Cor groaned as he rolled onto his back, scars highlighted by the flush spreading all over his skin. Nyx ran his hands up his thighs, pulling him closer, watching his cock twitch and leak inches away from his fingers. Cor folded an arm behind his head, hand holding onto an elbow, and bared his teeth when Nyx sank into him as slowly as he could make himself go. 

Then Cor's phone rang, rattling noisily on the night stand by his side of the bed. 

They stared at it, in disconcerted unison, tension bursting like a bubble, and then Cor stretched a hand to reach it, even though Nyx was balls deep inside him, struggling to breathe as he felt Cor's pulse echoed in the twitching around his cock. 

“If you answer that,” Nyx growled low in his throat, fingers digging into Cor's hips, “Six help me, Cor, I will murder you.” 

Cor stopped, uncertain, and looked at him like a dog caught in two, opposing leashes. 

“It's Regis,” he said, voice thick and trembling, as his body clenched viciously around Nyx, almost in a panic. 

Nyx ground his teeth, so hard he almost expected one of them to crack and chip, and nodded. Once. 

“Are you dying?” Cor demanded, voice surprisingly not breathless, dropping the phone on the pillow by his head, unable or unwilling to fuss with something more complicated than putting it on speaker. 

“What?” The King asked, suitably confused. “No. Not literally. Perhaps a tad, metaphorically,” he added, uncertain, and Nyx felt like he had no business listening in to that call, hated the way Cor had put him in that spot, as the King's voice wavered around the edges. “Cid called.” 

“Call me back in an hour, then,” Cor said, irreverent and impertinent, and Nyx dug his nails into his thighs, scoring lines against the pale skin all the way to his knees, in lieu of saying any of the stupid things stuck on his tongue. “Or two.” 

“Oh,” the King said, painfully apologetic, “is this a bad time?” Nyx ground his hips impatiently against Cor's, because he was still caught in the satin vice that was Cor's insides, and the King sounded keen on talking, regardless. “Cor?” 

Nyx didn't know what possessed him to do it. He didn't even want to know, to be honest. But he opened his mouth, and said: 

“He's perfectly fine, Your Majesty,” with a little amused snort that made Cor's flush darken until his face looked like a lovely, fetching ripe plum, and his eyes widened and then narrowed when Nyx rolled his hips and killed whatever he'd been about to say. “We're _all_ fine.” 

The silence stretched, broken only by Nyx's slow-burn panicked deep breaths and the echo of Cor's stuttering gasps forcefully turned into something quieter. 

“Good _day_ , gentlemen,” the King said at length, before tension could snap like a rubber band, and then he hung up. 

Nyx stared at Cor, expectant and tense and wary, and then Cor threw an arm over his face and laughed helplessly into it, the sound traveling through his body and very lovingly grinding the remnants of Nyx's conscience under their heel. Nyx fell into him, like falling into water, laughter bubbling up his lungs without a care if he liked it or not. 

“Shit,” Cor said, lucid with broken momentum, and wrapped his arms around Nyx's shoulders, like it somehow mitigated the fact Nyx was hard and solid inside him still. 

“I'm going to regret that, aren't I,” Nyx said, rather than asked, mouthing the words into the tendon running along Cor's neck, inwardly debating whether he should sink his teeth into it or wait for later. 

“Absolutely,” Cor breathed out, tilting his head invitingly. He was always inviting, Nyx mused absently, teeth scratching but not actually biting. “But he'll probably give us the two hours,” Cor sighed and tightened up around Nyx, a deliberate movement that made Nyx's toes curl on reflex. “Maybe even three.” 

Nyx grinned and bit on Cor's shoulder, hard enough he felt the bone creak under his teeth, and knew the bruise would stick around for a few days. Cor's breathing stuttered in delight, eyes sliding half close again. 

“Well,” he said, as he pulled back with one last kiss to the reddened skin, “let's not waste the King's mercy, then.” 

Cor stared up at him, expectant, eyes glazing when Nyx held his thighs open and pushed them up, threatening to fold him in half. The first thrust had him groaning, back arching like a live wire. He came on the fourth one, entire body spasming and writhing around the girth of Nyx's dick. Nyx sat back and watched him, holding still and willing himself as far away from that cliff as he could, because they had two hours to fill and he wasn't sixteen anymore. 

He did, nonetheless, try his best. 

When he was done, he laid bonelessly on Cor's chest, and that second shower was all but indispensable by then. 

“Better?” Cor asked him, voice low and gravelly, with an undercurrent of smug self-satisfaction that would make Nyx want to punch anyone else, but knowing he'd put it there made him smug and self-satisfied in return. 

Nyx kissed the underside of Cor's jaw, right where the beard thinned the most. 

“Getting there, yeah.” 

Cor closed his eyes and yawned, lazy like a well-fed cat. 

“Good.” 

Nyx thought so, too. 


	5. Chapter 5

__

* * *

_year vii_

* * *

The bartender placed the glass by his elbow and gave him a conspiratorial smile, like she knew what it meant. 

Cor supposed she thought she did, bars being traditionally places where people made connections, long or short term. But he doubted she knew why he stared at the swirling gradient of orange in the drink, crisscrossed by a swirl of blue, mostly because it had nothing to do with the name of the drink. 

“The gentleman in the booth over there,” the girl told him, nodding in that direction, and then went around to serve someone else, with that satisfied look of someone who’s done a good job. 

Cor looked at the man, and then very carefully took the glass and toasted at him, nodding, before he took a sip. 

“I wasn’t sure it was you,” the man said, coming to sit at the bar with him, wry smile on his mouth. “I wasn’t sure you wouldn’t bolt the moment I sent that over.” 

“I don’t run from things,” Cor replied, with a slight shrug, even though it wasn’t strictly speaking the truth. “I haven’t drank this in years.” 

“I haven’t seen you in years,” the man said, in a quiet, hushed voice and Cor realized he was glad to see him, viscerally. 

It was somewhat bizarre to stumble upon that thought, primarily because Cor didn’t know who the man was – nor, he suspected, did the man know who he was – only where they’d met, prior, and that wasn’t exactly the place where one made full name introductions. Cor took another sip of his drink and studied the man’s features; he looked much older than him, by at least a decade or two, but there wasn’t anything poignant or remarkable about him, nothing to stick to memory. 

“Haven’t really been in the scene, for years,” Cor replied, because it was true. “But you knew that.” 

“It’s poor manners, to reach out, I’m aware,” the man said, laughing into his own drink. He gave Cor a rather helpless little shrug. “I just... I thought you were dead. I was… am relieved to realize I was wrong.” 

Cor considered for a moment, staring out at the strip of beach where Nyx was trying to coax Prompto to step into the surf, and where Aranea was lying on a towel, basking in the sun. It wasn’t a bizarre assumption to make, considering the so called scene was a constant hit and miss, regarding unsavory characters. And Cor had been a very, very stupid kid at the time, granted. 

He knew exactly what had prompted the idea, too; after the Royal wedding, Cor had thrown all he owned and cared about into a bag and driven out of Insomnia and stayed away from it for a good two whole years, lest he gave into the urge to throw himself off the Citadel’s highest floor. His departure had been so abrupt, he hadn’t bothered to say a single goodbye, not to Regis or Aulea or Clarus, much less the people he trusted to ruin him once or twice a week and leave enough bruises for Aulea to snarl at when she saw him the next morning, mostly because he hadn’t ever bothered to get a name, much less give one. 

It wasn’t an entirely unfounded idea, either, that he could be dead. He’d been young and stupid and keeping company less than savory. It wouldn’t be the first time some dumb kid exactly like that walked out with the wrong person and was never seen or heard of again. 

Cor took another sip of his drink. 

“Why?” Cor asked, brows dipped into the faintest frown, as he watched in fascination as the man shrugged, face slightly heated. 

“Is there a non-creepy way to say I was fond of you?” He said wryly, expression apologetic. “You never did seem the type to appreciate concern though.” 

Cor chuckled, looking back at the vague shape of their acquaintance and admitted there really wasn’t a way to make it not awkward, all things considered. 

“I really wasn’t,” he said, looking down at his drink, “but I’ve… gotten better at that.” 

“That’s good,” the man said, nodding slowly. “It’s… I’m glad, that you seem to have… things well in hand now.” 

Cor considered, for a split second, making a terribly inappropriate pun, given the wording. Mostly because he was, he admitted freely, kind of an asshole like that. He refrained if only because the situation was awkward enough without him helping it along. 

“I do,” Cor said instead, shrugging wryly, “mostly. It’s… better than it used to be, anyway.” Which was such a profoundly vapid understatement he almost winced at it. Then he noticed, in the beach, Aranea’s antics and rolled his eyes as he leaned on, with a hand cupped to his mouth, and hollered: “She’s _sixteen_!” 

The end result was her flipping him off and her cluster of admirers scattering like ants. Cor snorted. 

“Your daughter?” The man at his side asked, blinking in surprise. 

Cor shrugged. 

“Got a son, too,” he said, as he nodded, eyes dropping back to his drink, which was nearly gone. “Like you said… well in hand.” 

“Congratulations,” the man said, lips twitching, “my partner and I are still not sure it’d be a good idea. To have kids, I mean. Because of our… lifestyle.” 

“So you’re still in the scene,” Cor found himself saying and then feeling like shit for it, because it sounded eminently judgmental of him, and that… fuck, if there was one person in a ten mile radius who knew exactly how much he couldn’t judge, it was him. “That came out wrong.” 

But the man laughed, rather than look offended, and Cor made a sound in the back of his throat, when he ordered another round for both of them, rather than storm out or… well. Be upset by the remark. 

“Not _our_ scene,” he said, as he finished his drink with a thoughtful gulp. “But something like it. Something with less teeth. It’s basically your fault, really, that I’m almost an upstanding member of society these days.” 

Cor arched an eyebrow and, only after a moment of hesitation, took the offered drink. 

“How so?” He asked, as his eyes found Nyx walking Prompto up and down the edge of the shore, far in the distance. 

“You _died_ ,” the man said, and the vehemency in his tone startled Cor a little. “I mean… you didn’t, and I’m really, really glad about that, but I thought you had. A couple months after you dropped off the face of Eos I… started thinking, I guess. It hit me hard, I don’t know why, but you were dead and no one cared, and if no one cared that _you_ were dead, why would anyone care if I died? And in the end I decided I didn’t want that, so I got clean, I… I got help. And then about four or five years after that, I tried getting back into the scene, the legal, mainstream one, I mean. I started there, way back when, before life went off rails and I got into drugs and more… dangerous play. But I got a steady partner now, and you know. I’ve got a job. Life’s mostly okay now. I don’t know, I just felt like I should thank you.” 

“For dying,” Cor mused, and it was mean but not as mean as it could be, and the man laughed, covering his face with his hand. “Sorry.” 

“I’m being weird again,” the man said, not looking at him. “Aren’t I? Creepy.” 

“Probably,” Cor replied sincerely, but shrugged again. “I know what you mean, though.” He licked his lips and raised the fresh glass of fruity, sweet booze that already had his blood feeling fuzzy inside his veins. “To not being dead, or _too_ creepy.” 

“I’ll toast to that, yeah,” the man said, clinking his glass to Cor’s, expression wry. 

* * *

Cor let his head hang low, eyes closed as he panted in time with the solid hammering of Nyx’s cock inside him. He held onto the headboard with white knuckles, bracing himself and also secretly enjoying each time the entire frame slammed into the wall with the force of it, because it sent sparks of pain from his bruised fingers all the way up his arms and down his back. He could tell Nyx was getting close, because he slowed his rhythm, making each thrust count – it drove Cor insane, that he did that, sent lightning dancing up and down his spine because it dragged it out and clenching on reflex only made it worse (better) – rattling his bones until Cor hissed a low groan between his teeth, riding the edge of orgasm. Nyx stopped entirely, holding still while Cor tried his best to keep his grip on the headboard, even though it felt like ever single bone was fizzling out into foam. 

When Nyx started moving again, Cor made a sound closer to a whine than a groan, and hissed at the chuckle he got for his trouble. Nyx wrapped an arm over his chest, pulling him back, and it was the worst best thing in the world. 

“It occurs to me,” Nyx said, mouthing the words against his throat, voice low with a ghost of a growl as he pulled Cor back and up close, until his back was pressed against Nyx’s chest and he couldn’t help but appreciate the length of hard cock still buried inside him, “that I can take my time with you, this time.” He wrapped a hand around Cor’s throat, loose and inviting, more than anything, and nudged him to tilt his head back. Which Cor did, moaning as he let Nyx shuffle him up against him, malleable like well-fucked clay. “I don’t even have to fuss with the clean up after.” 

Cor smirked, just a tad, and then made that sound again, definitely almost entirely a whine, because Nyx dragged his hand across his chest, shoulder to hip, nails digging just hard enough to leave angry red lines on his skin, and Cor loved him for it. A lot. 

“And you squinted at me,” Cor muttered, sated, boneless sack of willing nerve endings, sprawled against Nyx’s chest and still so keenly aware of the fact Nyx was far from done, “when I ordered a double room.” 

“How will I ever make it up to you, I wonder,” Nyx snorted, and then gasped, and Cor allowed himself a wholly smug smirk as he _clenched_ . 

It was a challenge, now. 

* * *

“I know we agreed to never ever speak of it,” Nyx began, once they were done with the shower and had spilled bonelessly into the tub filled to the brim with hot water, “because it was terribly traumatic and horrific and just over all _shit_. But I have to ask, now, sorry.” 

Cor, lying on Nyx, basking on the fact they actually fit inside the tub, and also still riding the last echoes of a really good orgasm, the kind that left him feeling like his skin was two sizes too small for his bones, made a low sound in the back of his throat and squinted up at Nyx warily. Because… shit, they just had some of the most mindblowingly good sex they’d ever had, and now they were clean and soaking and the heat was just starting to sneak into his muscles, teasing out knots of tension that had been in place for so long he couldn’t even remember them not being there. He wasn’t sure this was the best time to talk about trauma. 

Although that implied, of course that they ever did. 

And they didn’t. 

Ever. 

Because they were both highly trained in the art of ignoring anything without immediate bearing on the situation at hand, and frankly no one needed a tour through the skeleton museum that Cor called a closet, least of them Nyx. 

“Why _the shit_ did we not put a decent bathtub in the master bathroom of the house?” Nyx asked, arms resting on the sides of the tub, legs shifting as if to highlight the fact they fit and it was hot and lazy and _perfect_. 

Cor laughed. 

It was the same kind of laugh Nyx always got out of him, surprised and sincere and quiet. He shifted until his face was tucked against Nyx’s neck and buried a grin against the reddish skin of Nyx’s throat – red from Cor’s fangs, trying their best to tear it to shreds every time he hammered him into the ruined sheets just to see what noised he made, and red from the water, near scalding hot, blush crawling up his shoulders and heading straight to his face. 

“Because after the second time we had to tear the whole thing down and start again because of the freak piping fuckups, you threatened to build it yourself, if they didn’t fix it right.” 

There was a moment of silence, which lingered against the soft sounds of water gently rippling against the edges of the tub, and then Nyx snorted, the sound almost buried beneath the splash as he pulled Cor closer, just enough he could bury his face into his hair. 

“...so I’m going to ignore the fact that _i_ _s_ an excellent point and just say I love you deeply for sitting on me and not letting me take a crack at the fucking thing, even though I might or might not have told you to go fuck yourself, at the time,” Nyx muttered, “I still can’t believe you talked me into buying a house. That’s like… responsible adult behavior, Cor, what the shit.” 

“I didn’t talk you into anything,” Cor protested, though not very vigorously, and stretched as long as he was, toes barely reaching the edge of the tub. 

“No,” Nyx snorted, one arm curling around Cor’s back, holding him in place, “you just fucking offered to buy me a whole _house_.” 

“Is _that_ how that works?” Cor mused lazily, tilting his head up to kiss at the ghost of his fangs along Nyx’s throat. “All I’ve got to do to get you into things is offer to do them all on my own?” 

There was a moment where the joke almost landed, but then Nyx’s arm tightened around his back. 

“No,” he said, in a tone that made Cor’s skin break into goosebumps down his spine, “all you’ve got to do is _ask_ me, and I’ll at least give it a shot.” 

Had he been standing, Cor would have swayed on his feet. As it was, he sank a little more, stilling in Nyx’s hold. 

“I thought we’d put a forever procrastinating note on this conversation,” Cor muttered, carefully not looking at Nyx in the eye. 

Nyx hummed in the back of his throat. 

“Maybe I want to unprocrastinate on it, now,” Nyx said, linking his fingers together over Cor’s back, as if to cage him there, even though both of them knew that wouldn’t be nearly enough to keep Cor in place if he didn’t want to stay. “Maybe I want to talk to you about it.” 

“You were upset,” Cor pointed out, “last time the topic came up. What changed your mind?” 

“I’m _still_ upset and it’s not about the sex or the kind of sex you might or might not enjoy,” Nyx replied, scowling a little. “But that’s besides the point. You kept… not asking, today.” 

“What.” 

Nyx let out a soft huff and tugged Cor closer still, resting his chin on his head. 

“It felt like you wanted to ask me something, today, and then you didn’t.” When Cor didn’t immediately deny this, Nyx tightened his hold around him, a little. “You can, y’know. Ask me to do stuff. I want you to enjoy it, when we have sex.” 

Cor snorted. 

“I do.” 

“But you could enjoy it more,” Nyx theorized, and then nudged at Cor so he’d stop not looking at him. 

“That’s… debatable,” Cor said after a moment. “That’s not really how it works.” 

“...you _could_ tell me how it does work, then,” Nyx said, and waited until Cor met his eyes to arch an eyebrow at him. “It’s just sex, Cor, we can stand to _talk_ about it.” 

“Always been more of a doer, than a talker,” Cor muttered rebelliously, and then punctuated the statement by sinking his fangs into Nyx’s collar bone, because he knew exactly the reaction that would get him. 

Which was exactly the reaction he got, yes, but it didn’t mean Nyx was entirely derailed. 

Just… mostly, for the moment. 

The tub was big enough, anyway. 

* * *

Because Nyx kept _looking_ at him, and also because Cor had an excessively well developed taste for self-destruction, he introduced Nyx to his… friend, whose name he didn’t even know and very poignantly reminded Nyx not to ask for. His friend and his partner, who turned out to be a girl in her late twenties with a mild smile and a necklace that Cor was three quarters sure was actually a collar. They had lunch in the Mother of Pearl and discussed the nuances of the scene, legal and otherwise, while down in the beach, Aranea kept a watchful eye as Prompto did his honest best to build a sandcastle. 

It wasn’t nearly as awkward as it could be, but then Cor knew Nyx had a masterful deadpan facade to rival his, when the situation called for it. 

Cor paid the bill, bid the seemingly mismatched couple goodbye, and did not dwell on how weirdly comforting it was, to put words to things and turn them into something almost mundane. 

“I can just ask the internet about this, you realize,” Nyx told him as they walked along the wood road parallel to the shore, and reached down to hold his hand for emphasis when Cor made a little questioning noise in the back of his throat. “I mean, I’d rather get it from you, but the internet is a thing, and it’s yet to fail me whenever I ask it about stuff.” 

Cor snorted, despite himself. 

“Porn is hardly didactic,” he said, but didn’t pull his hand away. “I don’t know why you’re fixated on this, it doesn’t really matter.” 

Because it didn’t. Not to Cor, at least. He’d expected Nyx not to care, either, considering their tacit, all important agreement that the Past was no man’s land and didn’t need to be revisited. Though admittedly, Cor had been the one to break that first, in this very trip, taking Nyx to Hammerhead and introducing him to Cid the way he’d had. 

“It matters to me,” Nyx insisted, and stopped walking, tugging on Cor’s arm so he couldn’t quite run away from the conversation without feeling terrible for it. 

“Why?” Cor asked, and didn’t mean to make it sound so sharp. 

Nyx stared up at him. 

“Because I love you, and you make me happy,” Nyx said, and shrugged when Cor failed to do more than stare back. “I want to make _you_ happy.” 

Cor didn’t have a witty retort for that. 

Then Nyx grinned, smug beyond words and tugged him closer. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you flustered before, Cor.” 

Which made Cor realize, much to his chagrin, that his face was burning. He did the reasonable thing, of course, and snarled defensively. It didn’t make his face feel any cooler or Nyx’s smirk any smaller. He snarled again, even as Nyx tugged him closer to kiss him, and while that did make him feel a little better, it didn’t stop him from hiding his face against Nyx’s throat. All he really needed, he knew, was a good bite on the tendon and the conversation would be done for. 

“I do, you know,” Nyx told him, arms resting easy around his waist, “love you, you insufferable bastard. I bought a house for you. We’re raising two kids that aren’t nearly half as fucked up as they probably should be, all things considered. Weird sex isn’t going to scare me away.” 

Cor didn’t actually get to argue the point, mostly because Prompto came running just as he was opening his mouth – to either deliver a deadpan or clamp his fangs shut on a tendon – and told them he’d found something they absolutely needed to see. 

It turned out to be a karlabos half buried in the sand, which then proceeded to un-bury itself and try to murder them and everything within a mile radius. 

It was fine. 

* * *

  


**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out on [DW](https://notavodkashot.dreamwidth.org/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/notavodkashot), if you'd like.


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